


Pest Control

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Series: Flying High [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wings, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Implied shower sex, Lice Infestation, Nesting, POV Felicity Smoak, Past Abuse, Sharing a Bed, Snuggling, Wing Grooming, Winged Oliver Queen, Wingfic, Wings, courting, preening, shared showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Oliver's massive thirty-foot wingspan turns out to be the perfect breeding ground for an unwanted infestation, much to Felicity's horror.An add-on fic toBirds of a Featherin theFlying High'verse, this time with delousing shampoo, hug attacks, and so much frustration that dying in a hole would be preferred.





	Pest Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatmasquedgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/gifts), [madisonli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madisonli/gifts).



> This entirely madisonli's fault.
> 
> And she knows it.
> 
> Masque, I'm so sorry.

* * *

Throughout the past year, Felicity has helped Oliver with a variety of wing-related issues. Sprains. Dislocations. Torn out feathers. Small wounds. Big wounds. Molting. Waterproofing. Preening and grooming and all the feather maintenance things. As his courting partner, feather guardian, and molt companion, it’s her responsibility to make sure that the vigilante’s two extra limbs for flying are kept in tippy top condition.

Oliver has never, however, mentioned anything about her being responsible for pest control.

Felicity first notices something might be wrong with the winged vigilante when he arrives back from a nightly patrol with his wings extended, fingers absentmindedly scratching at the undersides. He has a small frown on his face as he places his bow down onto the counter, beginning to shake out his wings. The blonde stands from where she’s settled in front of her monitor set-up, approaching her courting partner with a raised eyebrow as he flaps his wings frustratedly.

“Everything okay?” she questions, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

He smiles, leaning over to gift her with a gentle kiss. Disappointingly, Oliver draws away before Felicity can properly savour it, leaving her licking the delicious taste of him from her lips with a pout. “Everything’s fine. I think a few of my feathers are just twisted; it’s making my wings itchy.”

Except there aren’t any twisted feathers. In fact, by the time that Felicity’s finished grooming and there isn’t a feather out of place, Oliver’s wings are still itchy. There also seems to be some sort of rash blossoming around the quills, with patches of sore looking skin hidden underneath the dark plumage. Oliver brushes it off, suggesting that maybe he’s approaching a partial molt. It reassures Felicity slightly; whenever her courting partner starts to molt feathers, his wings do inflame and get terribly itchy.

Her worry fading away, Felicity drags Oliver over to their corner nest for their other evening activities, grateful that Diggle is working security at a Queen event and they can spend the night alone together, however they want.

She regrets her blasé, unconcerned attitude two weeks later.

“I think my wings might be falling off,” Oliver says in a full blown panic down the phone line, as Felicity hurriedly jumps into her Mini Cooper at four in the morning. It’s first night they haven’t spent sleeping in each other’s arms in two weeks, due to Diggle walking in on them early yesterday evening and having to bleach his mind after finding them both half naked on the training mats whilst making out. Felicity knew she should have insisted on Oliver flying over to her apartment once it got dark enough.

“Calm down,” she soothes. “Yours wings aren’t falling off.” Or at least, she damn well hopes they’re not. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“The itching got - it got really bad,” the vigilante explains in a rush, his frenzy about this situation evident in his voice. “It’s never been this bad before and I just want to - I just want to rip them off, it’s so painful! What if it’s my subconscious telling me something’s wrong with them!? What if I lose them!? I can’t remember a life without my wings, Felicity, I don’t know what I’m -“

“Stop,” Felicity commands firmly. She can hear her courting partner’s gasping breaths down the line, which signify the beginning of an anxiety attack. “Oliver, you need to calm down, okay? Your wings are most likely completely fine. They’re not falling off. Look, there’s going to be a reason they’re itchy. And we’ll work out that reason when I get there. Don’t scratch at them for the moment. Go and lie in the nest and try to nap, or work on some arrows. Occupy yourself, distract yourself. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

His tone still sounds rather shaky as he whispers, “Please be quick. I - I love you.”

“I love you too,” Felicity responds softly.

The twenty-minute journey to the Foundry feels like twenty hours. Obeying traffic laws and stopping for red lights has never been so irritating as right now. Felicity has a legitimate emergency on her hands, and it seems stupid to be slowing at roundabouts to check for other road vehicles when it’s four am, and the streets are practically empty. She does, however, eventually reach the industrial district of the Glades, and as she scrambles out of her Mini, locking it hastily, she flinches when she hears the tell-tale noises of an Oliver-tantrum down in the basement of the old steel factory. Oliver must be in agony for him to have such a furious reaction. Mentally preparing herself, Felicity slowly punches in the security door code and descends the rickety metal staircase towards where the racket is coming from.

The lights are on energy-saving levels, so the Foundry is dimly lit and draped in shadows. The flash of iridescent green and silver gleams out of the darkness as the vigilante flares and beats his massive thirty-foot wings in anger, knocking medical equipment over and sending arrows scattering onto the floor. As Felicity reaches the last stair, stepping down into the basement, Oliver whips around, a frantic, scared glint in his bright cobalt eyes as he gazes at her. Before she can get a word out, his expression crumples and he sobs, throwing himself at her for a hug.

“I’m dying, I have to be dying, this is awful, this is the most dreadful thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, the experiments weren’t even as bad as this,” the winged vigilante rambles, resting his forehead on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her tightly. Felicity notices that he’s keeping his wings far out of the way, extended behind him stiffly as they twitch uncontrollably. “I need to cut my wings off, that’s the only way to get rid of this, I hate myself and my wings and everything.”

“Hey! Hey,” she interrupts him fiercely. Oliver pauses and blinks at her, appearing so much like a wide eyed, confused puppy that it’s almost too adorable for her mind to handle. Felicity gently cups his cheeks, forcing him to focus on her. “Take a deep, deep breath. I’m here now, and we’re going to sort this out.”

“It _huuuuurrrts_ ,” the archer whines, releasing another pitiful whimper.

“I know, hun,” she nods. “But if we find out what’s hurting you, then we can put an end to it, can’t we? Come on, strip off and get up onto one of the stools, and I’ll take a look at your wings. Your molt companion, feather guardian and courting partner demands it.”

It takes several minutes to get Oliver settled with his wings spread out so Felicity can examine them, simply because he’s shifting around in discomfort so much. He complains and wriggles and grumbles, all while keeping a secure grasp on the blonde’s shirt as an anchor. Felicity can’t really bring herself to scold him for his behaviour. He’s obviously in a lot of distress. He’s not deliberately acting like a four-year-old bratty child. She manages to find his octahedron Rubik’s buried within the blankets of his nest; pressing it into his hands, it distracts the vigilante enough that Felicity is finally able to pry his tensed, bristling wings from his spine and take a look at them.

Fanning her fingers out so she can drag her feathers through the dark feathers, Felicity frowns. No feathers twisted or out of order once again. No tangled twigs or caught up debris. There is nothing that would outwardly explain his itching. “Everything seems to be fine,” she says, bemused. “I don’t know what could be -“

She shrieks.

She jumps back and waves her hands desperately to get rid of the tiny brown dots scuttling over her fingernails, jumping from beneath Oliver’s feathers onto her bare skin. Taking another step back, she stares at the vigilante with barely disguised horror.

Lice.

Oliver’s got lice.

“Felicity!?” he shouts in alarm, staying in place like she ordered him to, but now wiggling in his seat. He glances over his shoulder with a worried look. When he catches sight of her shocked face, another whine erupts from his throat, sounding more animal than human. “Felicity, what’s wrong?”

“You have lice,” she whispers.

The vigilante appears aghast. “I’m sorry, _what!?_ ”

“You. Have. Lice,” Felicity repeats, with more emphasis. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to be sick. That is - that is disgusting. And with wings your size - yep, I’m starting to gag.”

“I can’t have lice!” Oliver objects, twirling around on his stool as he draws his wings back in.

“Well, evidently you can!” Felicity hisses, waving her hands towards his two extra feathered limbs.

He shakes his head vehemently. “No! This isn’t possible. You’re my molt companion! My feather guardian! You preen my wings so that doesn’t happen!”

After several seconds of staring at him intensely, Felicity can sense he’s not lying. Her heart sinks in her chest and she’s left feeling as if there’s a boulder nestled on top of her lungs, squishing down so she’s struggling to breathe. Sick to the stomach, Felicity says quietly, “Oh my god, you got lice because I wasn’t preening your wings properly? This is _MY FAULT!?_ ”

Oliver immediately begins to back peddle, swallowing. “No! No, this - this definitely isn’t your fault! It’s mine, I should have realised -“

“I was meant to preen your wings to help you avoid getting lice and I failed!”

“No, no, no! Felicity -“

“I’m the worst molt companion ever,” she bemoans, dropping her head into her hands in dismay.

“Don’t say that!” he protests.

“Oliver! _YOU HAVE BIRD LICE_. Obviously, I was doing a pretty shitty job at preening if you managed to get LICE.”

“Okay, well, let’s get rid of the lice!” Oliver suggests wildly.

“How do you get rid of bird lice?”

“I don’t know!”

“Oliver, you’re part bird. How can you _not know how to get rid of bird lice!?_ ”

It takes about an hour of careful internet research for Felicity to even have a faint idea of how to treat bird lice. Most of the websites she finds are forums for chicken breeders, with the occasional parrot owner, but if their methods kill lice on chickens and parrots, they should kill lice on a human with bird wings, right? It’s nearly six in the morning by the time Felicity completes their action plan, finding the addresses of all the local pet stores that sell what she needs. The websites warn that she really shouldn’t be doing this herself, but she can’t exactly take Oliver to the vet to get proper delousing treatment. No, this will have to do.

The vigilante somehow survives a couple more hours of the terrible itching before Felicity heads off to visit all the pet stores, waiting at the front doors so she can be in and out within five minutes of them opening. Within thirty minutes, she visits half a dozen different stores before heading back to the Foundry.

She drops her six bags down onto the medical bench, casting a sympathetic glance over at Oliver, who is seated on the floor looking miserable as he attempts not to scratch his wings, to avoid causing any more lice eggs to hatch.

“Alright, mister, get over here. Time to kill those bird lice and get you all squeaky clean and lice-free.”

They start the treatment by showering him using four bottles of special bird delousing shampoo. They’ve seen each other naked before, so having Oliver stand naked in front of her under the stream of water, while she is also half naked and rubbing him down, is not awkward. In fact, she has to concentrate on her task as to avoid getting hot and bothered. Felicity works the delousing shampoo into a lather quickly. She gently washes his hair first, encouraging him to spread the shampoo all over his body, as the bird lice could have spread into other areas. She rakes her hands through his feathers, making sure to get down to the quills, until his entire thirty food wingspan is a giant, soapy mess.

“ _Stooooop_ ,” he whinges, yanking his wings away from her.

“Stay still,” she snaps, as she makes sure his alulas are covered with soap foam.

“You’re pulling on my feathers,” he pouts.

“I’ve pulled on your feathers a lot harder than this before, and I didn’t hear you moaning then.”

A sly smirk sweeps across the vigilante’s face. “I think we were both moaning, actually.”

“Oliver, please don’t refer to sex when I’m murdering thousands of tiny blood sucking parasites living in your wings.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, they suck blood?”

“I don’t suppose when you were at the lab they gave you any shots against bird parasite-borne diseases?”

He socks her in the face for that comment, sending her stumbling into the side of the shower with a growl. Thank heaven and God that when Oliver and Diggle fitted this shower, they decided to make it a five metre by five-metre cubicle to account for the vigilante’s wings. Unfortunately, the hot water does run out before they finish, as they have to wait fifteen minutes for the shampoo to do its work and kill the lice. Felicity washes the bubbles, dead parasites and their eggs away using freezing cold water, which causes Oliver to shiver violently. His wings are super sensitive, so whenever she aims the cold water spray onto them, she winces in sympathy because of the discomfort she knows she’s causing him.

“‘M cold,” he says quietly, trembling as she helps him stagger out of the shower.

“Wait there, let me grab some towels.” She turned on the towel rail’s heating system before they got into the shower, so the fluffy towels are all nice and warm and cosy. Felicity quickly dries herself off and redresses before going over to her dripping wet, sad-looking courting partner with his droopy wings.

He sighs in relief when Felicity wraps him up in warm towels, using one of them to scrub at his hair, leaving it all messy as it sticks out in all directions, leaving him resembling a bird’s nest and yet also, somehow, that bratty four-year-old she mentioned before. “Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice muffled due to the towel the blonde drapes over his head.

“You’re cute,” she comments. “And it’s really annoying sometimes, did you know that?”

“Yeah, you say that all the time,” he murmurs, ducking down to press a loving kiss to her forehead. “Are we done?”

“Oh, not even close.”

Blow drying the wings takes even longer than the shower. This, however, is at least much more comfortable and nice for Oliver. After his wings are entirely dry after around half an hour with the hairdryer, Felicity then preens his wings using the bio-oil and water mixture with some aloe vera and tea tree oil mixed in. This is more to prevent the lice coming back again and to soothe his itching, although it will also help kill any remaining lice eggs that have attached firmly into his quills. With Felicity working on Oliver’s oversides and the vigilante managing the undersides, they get it done reasonably quickly, moving to the final stage of their delousing attempt.

Dust bath. But with wood ash.

“Wood ash?” Oliver looks incredulous, reading the label. “This helps with bird lice?”

Apparently, according to chicken breeders, wood ash dust baths work wonders at getting rid of lice. But Oliver isn’t a chicken, so they’ll have to wait and see if this is successful. Just how Felicity gave him a dust bath with talcum powder all those months ago, before they started courting and sorted out their relationship, she coats his feathers with wood ash, which she has bought by the bucketful from the pet stores. The ash is a dark greyish brown colour, which makes it much more difficult to spot where they have and haven’t dusted yet over his wings. After Felicity is certain that they’ve covered his full wingspan at least twice, she forces Oliver to sit still for fifteen minutes once again before beating his wings to get the wood ash out of his feathers.

One last thing Felicity does just for her state of mind is fetch the anti-louse spray from one of the pet stores and not only just spray Oliver’s wings, but go around the Foundry misting the air. There’s no telling where else the bird lice could be thriving, and she isn’t going to allow there to be an existing risk of Oliver contracting them again.

“Now we’re done?” the vigilante questions hopefully. He looks exhausted, his shoulders and wings slumped.

“Yes, now we’re done,” Felicity promises.

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly. “Great.”

“… We’re done until we have to repeat this process in three days time.”

Oliver looks as if she just informed him that Griffin, his favourite police dog, just got hit by a car.

“We have to make sure you’re clear of all the lice and their eggs.”

“I hate this!” he shouts, falling onto his knees before landing face first into the bedding of his nest.

Felicity is quick to grab him by the shoulders and pull him away from the nest, pushing him back to the other side of the Foundry. “Nope. Can’t have you going into the nest,” she says apologetically. “There’s probably an infestation of lice in your blankets. We’ve got to sterilise everything to make sure we kill every last little mite in this place.”

And she didn’t think Oliver could look even more upset. “Where am I gonna sleep? At your apartment?”

“… Actually, since you’ve been in close contact with me a lot recently, I’m going to have to go delouse myself and my apartment, because there’s a likely chance you passed them onto me.”

“So we can’t cuddle?”

“Nope.”

“I hate this,” Oliver repeats heatedly, sounding even more devastated than before. "Horror swiftly passes over his face, and his wings jerk. “Wait, does this mean I’m going to have to contact everybody I’ve been around over the last week or so and tell them to check themselves for lice?”

“When you say everybody, you mean Diggle.”

“And Lance.”

Felicity explodes into a fit of giggles. “Oh my god, you’re going to have to explain to Detective Lance you gave him bird lice.”

“Stop laughing,” Oliver whines.

“I’m sorry, that’s just too funny.”

“Yeah, well, he thinks you laid my eggs,” Oliver huffs. “So which one of us is weirder in his mind?”

She would shove him, but the vigilante dances out of the way so he’s out of reach, wings flaring and tucking to balance his sudden movement. Scowling at him, Felicity begins gathering up all of his blankets and tripping the covers of his pillows, shoving all of the fabric into carrier bags. She’ll need to take them all to the laundromat, as well as all of her own bed linen. She notices Oliver changing into fresh clothes, attempting to remain shirtless and pantsless for as long as possible to maybe try and entice her. Oliver sulks slightly in the corner when he realises that the blonde’s pointedly ignoring him, yanking on his shirt and dumping his old clothes onto the washing pile. The vigilante brightens up a little bit when Felicity sighs and gives him a peck on the lips before departing.

It’s early enough in the morning that she’s able to grab her own bed linen and clothes she needs to sterilise and get to the laundromat before it gets busy. She places a delousing laundry tablet into the wash before starting the cycle, contenting herself to sit and work on some code as she waits for it to end.

A text pops through on her cell phone, the alert sound a sharp eagle cry which attracts her attention immediately.

_From: Mr Birdman <3_  
_Lance told me to go to a vet, are you happy now._

Grinning, Felicity quickly types a response.

_To: Mr Birdman <3_  
_Tell him to check himself for bird lice. Symptoms include discomfort and itching, swelling and rash-like reddish spots on the skin._

She barely has to wait twenty seconds for a reply.

_From: Mr Birdman <3_  
_He swore at me._

_To: Mr Birdman <3_  
_He has bird lice?_

_From: Mr Birdman <3_  
_He thought he was allergic to bananas._

_To: Mr Birdman <3_  
_He might still be allergic to bananas._

_From: Mr Birdman <3_  
_No, he has bird lice. And he now hates me. And wants me to die in a hole._

_To: Mr Birdman <3_  
_I’m sure he doesn’t want that._

_From: Mr Birdman <3_  
_No, I’m sure. That’s a direct quote from him. But I think he'll be pleased. I want to die in a hole. I hate having bird lice._

She chuckles aloud, having to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the amused sound as other people in the laundromat shoot suspicious, confused glances towards her.

_To: Mr Birdman <3_  
_Have you asked Diggle to check if he has bird lice yet?_

His answer is a single swear word that Felicity would never have expected from the vigilante. She probably will have to have a discussion with Diggle about the language they use down in the Foundry, because Oliver is still very much like a naive teenager mentally, and he’s likely to repeat curses they use in order to try and ‘fit in’ with them. The blonde puts her cell phone away just as her laundry ends its rinse cycle. The drying takes barely a few minutes in a spin machine. She heads home to drop off her own bed sheets and clothes before heading back to the Foundry so she and Oliver can start remaking his nest again.

She can hear Diggle’s thundering laughter from the top of the staircase, and it causes her to giggle to herself as she descends into the basement. Oliver is seated cross legged on the training mats with his wings flopping behind him, looking so annoyed that it’s a struggle to not snicker. Diggle is having an absolute fit on the other side of the Foundry, laughing so hard that he’s crying.

“You gave a police detective bird lice,” he wheezes. “Oh my god, I can’t handle this.”

“He was really pissed off, and he yelled a lot,” Oliver mumbles. “Stop laughing! This is serious.”

“He called you a giant, pest-infested pigeon,” Diggle continues, shaking so much due to his entertainment that he needs to sit down, just so he doesn’t fall over. “I need a moment, hold on. I can’t even focus right now. This is hilarious.”

“Well, I’m glad you find this situation funny,” Oliver hisses, baring his teeth angrily. He stands, brushing himself down and drawing his wings in closely to his back. It’s one of the vigilante’s clear tells that he’s withdrawing and getting upset, when he pulls his wings into his spine. It triggers Diggle to start calming down, wiping away his tears as he begins breathing easier. “I’m sure you’ve had lice before.”

“I imagine since Dig is finding this so hilarious, he hasn’t caught bird lice from you,” Felicity cuts in, before the bodyguard can open his mouth and rile up the vigilante further.

“ _Yet_ ,” Oliver mutters under his breath.

“Nope, I’m lice free,” Diggle says, smiling.

“ _For now,_ ” Oliver whispers, knocking his foot frustratedly against the weapons bunch.

“You might want to stop irritating Oliver,” Felicity says.

“Why? It’s fun.”

“Because the first delousing treatment usually only kills around eighty percent of the lice due to surviving lice eggs, so he could very easily smother you in his wings and forcibly infect you with bird lice.”

Diggle’s eyes widen and he very slowly turns to the vigilante, who is now gazing at him with a strange, hungry glint in his eyes. Felicity already knows what ideas are passing through Oliver’s mind. Her courting partner can be a devious troublemaker when he wants to be.

“No,” Diggle warns, when Oliver takes a very ominous step towards him, spreading his bristling wings out. “Don’t you dare.”

“But I want to give you a hug, John,” Oliver says, in a sing-song voice that is scarily quiet. “Are you objecting to me giving you a hug? I’m a touch-starved, damaged winged human being. I need cuddles.”

“You can get those from your girlfriend,” Diggle insists, backing away from the vigilante as Oliver approaches him with his wings towering above them both, casting a dark shadow through the basement. “Stay away from me! I don’t want your lice!”

“Give me a hug, Diggle.”

“NO!”

Felicity swears she’s never seen Diggle run away from Oliver so fast, even when the winged vigilante is using him for target practice. She has to bend over and brace her hands against her knees, she’s laughing so hard. The bodyguard vanishes through the security door after taking the stairs two at a time. He slams it shut directly in Oliver’s face, causing the archer to growl under his breath.

“Let him go,” she calls up to him. “You’ve guaranteed Dig won’t tease you anymore.”

Clunking back down the steps as he grumbles, Oliver replies, “He’s acting as if I have fleas. I don’t have fleas. I have lice. Lice infest _clean_ feathers and hair.”

“And lice are extremely easy to catch,” Felicity reminds him. “I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t catch lice from you.” She lifts the bags full of the vigilante’s bedding onto one of the counters, beginning to pass the blankets and pillows over to him. “You can’t build your new nest over in your old corner. You need to pick a new spot.”

The vigilante pauses in place, where he’s halfway across the Foundry from the small, cosy corner he picked out during his molt period for his nest, all those months ago. Felicity can hardly see his face due to the five pillows he’s clutching to his chest, but she can tell he’s unhappy and upset. She’s a little forlorn too. The corner nest was where they had their first kiss and their first time. Abandoning that area of the basement because of a lice infestation seems wrong.

“Do you think it’s time?” Oliver questions, his voice low and serious.

At first, Felicity is puzzled, because time for what, exactly? But then she remembers a brief conversation that both she and Oliver had a few weeks ago, and she lifts her head in realisation. “Time to get a bed, you mean? You’re giving in?”

During their initial discussion about the bed, the vigilante expressed extreme disapproval of the idea of buying a bed for the two of them to sleep in. He much prefers for them both to sleep in his nest. According to Oliver, it’s to do with courting rituals and proving he can provide for his partner.

“I’m… willing to concede this time.”

Felicity punches the air in triumph with a whoop. No more having the cold water pipes pressing into her back when Oliver accidentally shoves her into the wall.

“BUT -” he insists, “You have to agree to us getting a dog.”

Sighing, she leans back against the counter, muttering, “Should have known there would be a catch. You really, desperately want a dog, don’t you?”

He nods, eyes wide and innocent and hopeful.

How can she resist that face?

“We’re not getting a dog,” Felicity says. “It would be too much work to look after.” Oliver’s expression morphs into one of disappointment, lips turning down into a quivering pout. Eyeing his now shaking and slumping wings, the blonde adds, “Although, getting a cat is not something I’m against.”

“We can get a cat?!” Oliver whispers, looking like Christmas has come early for him.

“I’ll look around some of the shelters in the Glades at the weekend and bring back profiles on potential kitty candidates.”

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you!” the winged vigilante practically squeals in excitement. He rushes up to her and engulfs her in a massive hug, wrapping his wings around them both.

Felicity squirms away with a loud noise of objection, trying to remind him that hugs are not particularly good when one of the participants of the hug has bird lice, but then Oliver is picking her up and swinging her around with a delighted laugh. Her protests die as he pulls her hips flush with his own and begins plastering kisses all over her face and lips, the giant dark wings fluffing up behind him as they always do when he’s exceedingly happy. She can’t bring herself to tell the vigilante to back off and stop hugging her because she might get lice from him. Felicity’s courting partner is a massive, adorable dork and she adores him.

Which is why, the next day, she’s utterly miserable when she stomps down the stairs to the Foundry, strides up to her winged boyfriend vigilante and flicks him in the forehead.

Oliver blinks rapidly, raising a hand to touch the spot just above his eyebrows. “Ow.”

She rolls up the sleeves of her favourite green hoodie that still smells like Oliver since he used it in his nest and exposes her forearms to him. Which are covered in a horrific red rash and little spots. “You gave me bird lice.”

His expression softens into one of apologetic regret. “I’m sorry.”

“I got forty minutes of sleep last night. Forty! Just under three-quarters of an hour! Because I was itching everywhere. Why, you ask? Because you. Gave me. Bird lice!” She emphasises each pair of words with a sharp jab of her finger into Oliver’s chest, and he winces each time she does it.

“What can I do?” he pleads.

With no preamble whatsoever, Felicity begins stripping naked. She doesn’t even care anymore about Diggle possibly walking in on them, she wants to stop itching and feel better, because she feels so shitty she wants to claw her eyes out. “You can help me shower and wash my hair, and then you can rub aloe vera lotion over my entire body.”

The vigilante has been avoiding looking at her naked form as she undresses, despite the fact that they’ve seen each other naked too many times to count, but at her firm, unyielding statement, Oliver’s gaze flashes down to her. He swallows as he rakes his eyes up and down, and his wings, which were all slumped and relaxed before, drag in tight against his spine as they spasm uncontrollably. He’s undoubtedly trying to keep the wing boner at bay - and not just a wing boner. There’s a very noticeable tent starting to appear in the archer’s pants, and Felicity pointedly stops herself from staring at it.

“Okay,” Oliver says, managing to keep his usual squeaky tremor when she suddenly appears naked before him out of his voice. His demisexuality often means that any unexpected sexual stuff with her makes him a little nervous, although not distressed or unwilling. “Um. I’ll get naked too?”

“That is usually how showers work, yes.”

“Should I get naked here?”

He seems so uncertain that she smiles, quickly rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Taking his hand, she leads Oliver towards the shower room. “Come on.”

They do more in the shower that just wash.

They both stumble out into the Foundry with towels wrapped around them, tired and satisfied and glowing, half an hour later. Felicity’s legs feel like jelly so that she has to yank on sweatpants and a vest top before she collapses, falling face first into Oliver’s newly reconstructed, relocated nest with a pleased hum. The winged vigilante has a blissed out expression on his face as he kneels beside her, wearing only a pair of cargo shorts. His wings are beautifully tousled due to the half-wet feathers, which he dries by fanning his wings dramatically while trailing his fingers over the exposed skin of her lower back.

“We broke Dig’s rule,” he murmurs, fetching the aloe vera gel from Felicity’s purse. The blonde purrs as he starts gently massaging it into her arms, legs and belly, where the rashes from the bird lice are the worst. 

“We’ve broken his ‘no sex in the Foundry’ rule over a dozen times,” Felicity mumbles into a pillow. “I’m pretty sure he knows by now. He’s probably seen the CCTV and been scarred for life.”

“But how do we know that he knows?”

“Who do you think keeps stocking the condoms, Oliver?”

He pauses. “That’s not you?”

“No.”

Oliver grimaces, shifting so that he’s seated cross legged in the blankets next to her. Felicity groans unhappily and the vigilante swiftly begins massaging her again, working his thumbs into the sensitive flesh of her calves. “The thought of John seeing us having sex is too traumatising for me.”

“Then let’s stop having sex in the Foundry.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Oliver says shortly, simply, “No.”

Eyes closed and grinning, Felicity drags the archer down beside her, sighing contently as one of her courting partner’s huge fifteen-foot wings drapes over her. Snuggling into her blanket of iridescent dark green and silver feathers, the blonde rests her head against Oliver’s chest tiredly. It’s the morning, but who cares - they can nap. They enjoy their couple-naps. Judging by how the vigilante is getting comfy, propping his chin on top of her head and cuddling her, he is totally on board for a morning couple-nap. It’s been a stressful few days for them both.

“Oliver.”

“Hmm?”

“If you ever get bird lice again, we’re cutting off your wings as you originally suggested.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave kudos and comment :)
> 
> Tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13  
> Twitter: @lexiblackbriar


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